


Golden Age

by QuietlySomethingAlso



Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Origin Story, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlySomethingAlso/pseuds/QuietlySomethingAlso
Summary: Young and inexperienced, Clark Kent steps up to try and do some good- but when the world is already full of superhumans, vigilantes, and heroes, what's so special about a Superman?A Superman story and a personal take on the DC universe.





	1. More Powerful Than A...

When I was a kid, once a year, my Pa used to take train rides from Smallville to Keystone City for work. He was a wheat farmer- well, he still is- as were our four closest neighbors and about a third of the entire population of my hometown. Keystone City has an annual convention held by one of the state's unofficial committees on wheat farming. Pa is a co-chair on that committee. That's life in Kansas, I guess. Son of a wheat-farming committee co-chair.

Farm work has always bored the hell out of me, even though I'm damn good at it. Pa says I don't have the right mindset for it- that you need to be able to clear your head. I've never been good at doing  _that_ , that much is for goddamn sure.

I came with him on the trip to Keystone City, but only once. I was ten years old. Ma was visiting family, so I got out of school for a week and a half. It was my first time going anywhere with a population density larger than a hundred people per square mile, and boy was that ever an experience.

More noise than I'd ever heard before. Ears rang like church bells. I cried for eight hours straight the first day. It had been difficult enough tuning out pins dropping and the beating of houseflies' wings… so inner city traffic was like hell on Earth. By the end of the trip, I'd managed to dull myself to it a little, but even still I really believed that that experience would traumatize me for life.

The funny thing is, it's a good memory, in hindsight. Pa ended up skipping the whole convention to take care of me, and we left four days early. He bought me ice cream. Took me on the train on the way back rather than the bus, which he usually made for the return trip, just because I enjoyed it so much. I'd only felt pain once or twice in my entire life before then- it was one of the few times I felt really, truly vulnerable. And he was there for me. Love ya, Pa.

The train was the really remarkable thing. I'd never felt so small, riding on a passenger train. The whole countryside just blurred past, to the point where you couldn't make anything out. Before then, the fastest thing I'd ever ridden in was a pickup truck. So I was awestruck. The day we got home, I went out in the field behind our house to play and took off running, like a train, trying to recapture it, or something.

It didn't end well. I sped through the house by mistake and tore through the whole living room, ending up a half-mile away. Did ten thousand dollars' worth of damage. Ma called me a "little ball of fire" for that, and laughed about it. Ten thousand dollars' of damage, and I got "little ball of fire". She didn't even punish me. I was so upset with myself for afterwards that I thought about running away from home, before I realized that I wouldn't have anywhere to go. I don't know if my parents ever knew how upset I was then. God knows I never tried anything like that again; I would refuse to even go outside to play for months after the incident.

I've been compared to a train before. Stronger, faster. Nobody knows for sure; I've certainly never done anything impressive enough to warrant it. So I've never understood that comparison.

Until maybe now.

Barreling down the Kansas countryside at just under the speed of sound.

The train made me feel small the first time, and it turns out I can do this. Who knew?

So, yeah, I think I get the train thing now. I can feel the wind in my face this time, but it looks the same as it did back then. The countryside blurring past. Everything loses its shape; it's all just colors. Just orange and yellow, and a little brown patch right in front of me.

No, scratch that. Big brown patch. Getting bigger. A lot bigger, and fast.

…No, wait; it's gone now.

Dust in my face. Hang on.

I dig my feet into the ground and they immediately bore into it, throwing up dirt like a rototiller. I look behind me. The brown patch was a forest. I just sprinted through a forest without noticing.

Oops. Sorry, nature.

Must have knocked down two dozen trees by accident. I hope someone replants them before long; that kind of damage could really mess with the ecosystem. Smallville isn't so good to the environment as it is, what with the hundreds of gallons of pesticides it dumps into its rivers every year and all.

Something smells- smoke, trailing from the tracks I left in the dirt. Looking down, it's hard not to cringe. My clothes are totally wrecked. Soles of my shoes are long gone, so I rip them off entirely. It doesn't really make a difference going barefoot anyway. Shirt and pants are torn to hell, too, but I'm not keen on ripping those off. Maybe I should have worn a vest or something.

A baggier shirt may have made a difference. I really need to stop buying such tight clothes. I've just been in the habit since I got out of high school and started to muscle up out of nowhere. First time I wore a shirt that didn't fit, Lana told me I looked like a sexy cowboy out of a men's clothes magazine. So, naturally, I haven't worn a loose-fitting shirt since then. I am a real mess sometimes. I wonder what Lana will have to say about  _this_.

Can't believe I'm getting distracted like this. As though I have even a minute to spare.

I take off again, even though I only have the roughest idea of where to stop. I have a good eye for distance, but it's so hard to gauge where I'm going at this speed. The wind cutting across my face makes it hard to even keep my eyes open.

Wouldn't you know it, I'm running after a freight train. Or, more accurately, I'm running perpendicular to a freight train, trying to cut it off while it's still out in the countryside and a few hundred miles out from any heavily populated areas. It was all on the news- stuck brakes and some kind of routing issue. A computational error. The whole rail system based out of Metropolis is automated now. Another technological innovation that makes our lives so much safer… God bless LexCorp, I guess.

All that's left for them to do is evacuate the station where it's expected to derail, which is well into the metropolitan area. Estimated death toll, optimistically, is in the high hundreds. Not to mention the property damage. Hundreds more would lose their homes. It'll be in the news for a couple of years and then everyone will forget about it. Shit like this always happens in Metropolis.

Can't be too much farther now. I shut my eyes and take a breath for a moment, trying to take in the sounds around me. Even in the country, there's a lot of background noise to tune out, which makes it hard to focus on one thing in particular. There are so many slight changes in the air, but they're all distinct somehow. If I really concentrate…

…There it is. Like rattling metal. Distant, but loud and mechanical. And moving fast. It can't be more than 50 or 60 miles away now.

I dig my feet into the ground again and take off into a brief sprint. Moving fast is easy. The hard part is not moving  _too_ fast. So I brake after a few seconds.

I stop just short of the train tracks, and my momentum carries me straight into them, sending me hurdling face-first a few dozen feet into the dirt. It takes me a moment to recover from that, and I shake my hair out like a dog to get out the loose chunks of dirt. Really going to need a shower now.

The train comes sooner than I expected, and I'm forced to take off running to keep up. There's at least one person still inside in the front compartment- maybe more in the back. Not sure about that. But they're the first priority.

It's slower than I was going before, so it's not hard to keep up with the train near the front. There's a door on the front compartment, so if I can just reach it I can get in and get to the people inside without having to get inside anywhere else. The only problem is how to get in. If I tried to run along the side I would have to climb it, which I'm not sure I could do without damaging the compartment, at least as long as the train is still in motion. But if I stopped the train first, the people inside would be killed for sure, since the front of the train would be hit the hardest.

My only option seems to be leaping straight into the door. Not fun, seeing as I if I overshoot it I could derail the entire train by accident.

…Well, you only live once.

I suck in my breath, which doesn't really do much to help me relax considering the wind blasting in my face. I stop for a split second to bend down and then pounce full-force, hopefully with enough speed to ram the train from the side.

And it works, sort of- I collide gracelessly with the wall, leaving a head-sized dent in the side of the compartment. The entire train car rocks to the side a little, barely managing to stay on the rails. Shit, too close.

No time to dwell on it. I rest my foot on the stair just underneath the doorway and tug on the door, but it won't budge an inch. Locked, I guess. Maybe there's a safety lock in case the engineer wants to participate in bring-your-daughter-to-work day. It won't give easily.

I dig my hand into the side of the door. Haven't had to squeeze this tightly on anything in a long time, but it crumples like tinfoil when I do. So far, so good. The rest of the door gives easily, and I rip it off with my free hand, sending scraps of metal flying off into the countryside. The engineer inside screams as I climb in through the newly-formed entrance.

"Holy Christ!" he shouts at me, shuffling back to the other end of the car.

Yeah, not exactly.

I lift a hand, doing my best to look unthreatening. Hard to do, considering my clothes are ripped to shreds and I'm covered head-to-toe in dirt, but… "Calm down, calm down, I'm-"

"Are you a superhero?" He looks less surprised than you'd expect.

"Sure. Just calm down."

"Holy Christ, I'm being rescued by a superhero!"

"Alright, now please just relax and-"

"-Hey! Hey!"

"What? Is something wrong?"

"I know you!"

"No, you don't."

"You're Captain Marvel!"

Dammit.

I narrow my eyes. "No, I'm not."

"I thought you were Egyptian?"

"Do you see a lightning bolt on my chest?  _Captain Marvel_  is Egyptian. I'm not Captain Marvel."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I su-? Yes, I'm sure! Obviously!"

The force of the air being sucked out of the train is hard to fight. I glance over my shoulder through the gaping hole in the wall, and am once again stricken by exactly how dangerous this is.

"Who else is on board the train?" I shout, over the wind.

He looks at me with disbelief for a moment. "N- nobody!"

"Nobody? Really? You're the only one on board?"

"Just me until the stop at Metropolis. It's all cargo!"

"What about stowaways?"

"You can't get into any of the compartments! It's all locked with magnets now!"

Well, that makes my life a lot easier. I'll call it karma.

I extend a hand to him, grimacing. "Hold on to me!"

He doesn't loosen his grip on his seat. "What are you doing?"

"What the hell do you think? I'm getting you out of here!"

"You came here just to get me out?"

"No, not just you. Hold onto me!"

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to- stop… the train."

"Stop the train? Can you really  _do_  that?"

"Not sure."

I glance out the window. Sure is moving fast. Damn, this really is the  _stupidest_ thing I've ever done.

But it's a little late for cold feet now.

I shoot him an impatient glare. "Hold on to me, damn it!"

"Fine! Fine!"

Moving uncertainly, the man loosens his grip and climbs the seat to wrap his arm around my waist. He seems pretty scared, not that it surprises me. I rest a hand behind his head to protect him from whiplash.

"Hold your breath!" I shout.

This is the worst part, and the part I planned most ahead for. This is the part where he might die. But… at least if he does, it's better than certain death in a train crash, at least. That's what I'll tell myself anyway.

Oh, God; please don't die, man.

I take a moment to gauge my surroundings. If I just get him a couple hundred feet away, I won't have to worry at all- that's quite a jump to make. Not that I haven't made worse.

Kneeling just inside the compartment, I pounce again, causing the entire compartment to recoil behind me from the force of the jump. I spend just a few moments in the air, and then crash directly into the dirt, feet first. Thank God for that, too. Anything else would have killed him for sure.

I let go of the engineer, who stumbles out of my arms and falls to his knees, wheezing hysterically. That's still a lot better than dead.

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask hurriedly.

He coughs once and lifts a finger to indicate for me to give him a moment, then gets to his feet and straightens himself out. "I… I'm alright…"

"Alright. I'm going."

"Good luck…"

I swear he whispers 'Shazam!' just before I bolt. Goddammit. Now this guy is going to tell everyone Captain Marvel did this and make the guy seem like an amateur. I am way out of my depth.

I wish I  _was_ Captain Marvel. A lightning strike would probably be enough to shut the damn thing down. Unfortunately I don't have lightning to throw, so I'm gonna have to do it the old fashioned way. I just hope it doesn't kill me.

It doesn't take me long to catch up with the front of the train again. The train car in front, despite being dented and ripped up almost beyond recognition, continues to putt along precariously toward its destination. I really think I might be able to do this.

I sprint ahead of it again, putting another quarter mile between myself and the front of the train, and then position myself on the tracks.

…Yes, definitely the stupidest thing I've ever done. Definitely.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I'm actually kind of afraid. I might die. I've never even thought about the possibility before. They say everyone is like that in their youth, but not like me. Definitely not like me. Usually that expression is talking about, like, drugs. Or skydiving.

Now, stopping a train… I don't know if anyone's ever done  _that_  before. Even Wonder Woman doesn't usually do shit  _this_ crazy. Maybe I have something to prove.

Maybe not.

I don't have a lot of time to dwell on it, because seconds later the train hits me. Collides head-on. The moment it does, the metal plating on the front bends forward around my fists, and my arms shoot through it, allowing the rest of the train to slam into me like- well, like a speeding train.

It hurts. It hurts a  _lot_. More than anything I've ever felt- but then, given how little I have to compare it to, that may not be saying much. It buckles my knees and forces my shoulders back, and they burn like I'm going to lose them. Everything burns, actually. I shut my eyes as tears well up in them.

My bare feet dig into the ground again as my body is forced backward by the train, digging into the tracks and ripping them to complete shreds. Sparks fly from the wheels in front of the train, and it screeches relentlessly, the noise pounding in my ears. Scraps of metal fly from the front of my train and scrape against my face. For what feels like an eternity, the blazing hot metal presses into my forearms, threatening to pinch them in half.

And then, finally, as abruptly as it started, it ends, and the train finally slows enough to skid to a halt. A few compartments behind the front one tip over and crash into the ground, erupting with noise. All the way down the train, the wheels are torn to pieces, strained from the pressure I exerted on the train.

The wreckage extends back along the tracks as far as the eye can see. A completely destroyed- and mostly derailed- train. This has got to be hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage. And hundreds of lives saved.

At least I did something.

With a grunt, I rip my arms out of the front of the train and examine them- not a scratch. Not a scratch anywhere on my body. I'm going to be feeling sore in the morning, but that's all. I can hardly believe it myself. I knew I was strong, but this is really something else.

I take a long sigh. Squinting, I can see the engineer I rescued far down along the tracks, staring at the wreckage with disbelief. Laughing breathlessly, he pulls out his cell phone and starts dialing.

Sounds like my cue.

I shake the dirt off my body and crack my neck with one hand. Got to make sure I'm out of here, before people start reading about me in the news.

Stopped a goddamn train. Who knew you had it in you, Clark Jo?

With a breath, I take off running. I'm miles away in seconds.

Little ball of fire.

Damn, Ma is going to be  _pissed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story over a year ago, and that's when I wrote the first few chapters for it.
> 
> It has stayed in the back of my mind, though, and I've actually had the story planned out for a while now. I've always been a huge Superman fan; I hope someone else can get some enjoyment out of my take on the character.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Enemy Mine

Cold water runs over my arms, and I shiver instinctively. My shoulders have been sore for weeks. I've never been sore before- I never even knew what it felt like.

It sucks.

Ma freaked out. Said she raised me better than to try and get myself killed. Said I should know better than to try and give Pa a heart attack. She's right.

I grab a towel on the way out of the bathroom, drying my shoulders. They feel so eerily sensitive. To think this is what most people have to deal with after moving furniture… I hate feeling so out of touch.

Lana called me. Said she saw me on the news. Said she was halfway ready to write me an obituary. Said Pete knew I had it in me.

Apparently they're having a baby, and got engaged as a result. I couldn't be happier for them, even if it means the two of them share everything they see and hear. Including any stupid stuff I do.

I grab a shirt from the couch and slip it over my shoulders. The fabric is scratchy… the fact that I even notice it drives me up the wall.

As I straighten my clothes, the intercom buzzer next to the door into my apartment goes off, and I jump a little before flipping around to face it. Wasn't expecting guests…

I lean into the door and push the intercom button, hesitant. "Hello?"

The old receiver crackles on the other end. "Good afternoon. Is this Mr. Kent? I'd like to inquire about a career opportunity, if you aren't predisposed."

A career opportunity…? Can't imagine I impressed any businessmen serving coffee in town on weekdays.

I look down at myself, clad in blue jeans and a ratty plaid shirt. Not really in the best condition for a job interview, but I suppose that's what you should expect when you show up to someone's house unannounced.

I press the intercom button again. "Uh, just a second."

"Please, take your time."

In a flash, I scurry to the bathroom and run a comb through my hair. I've been told I clean up nicely. Unfortunately, I don't really have time to style it at the moment.

My bangs fall partly back over my forehead as I tap the button again to let the guest in. Damn.

The intercom buzzes as the apartment entrance unlocks for him. Within minutes, the man is knocking on my front door, and I peer through the peephole to get a good look at him before I let him inside.

And I can barely believe my eyes.

" _Lex Luthor_?" I swing the door open with one hand as I make this declaration, unable to hide my surprise.

"Ha!" He runs a hand over his bald head and reaches down to fix the cuffs of his suit, flashing a charming smile. "Well, I see my reputation precedes me…"

"I, um… sorry, sorry; come in…"

I take a step back to let him in, and he brushes past me, taking a look around the apartment with a small frown. He's all dressed up in an undoubtedly overpriced suit, like I've seen him on TV. His scalp practically sparkles; I guess it's been polished, or whatever it is bald people do with their heads.

He marches forward like he expects me to follow him the rest of the way in. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced like this. My schedule is extremely tight, but I really felt the need to have this meeting in person. My personal assistant found the time on short notice."

"No, no… no problem…" I follow him into my living space, and he brushes off my couch with one hand, gesturing to ask if he can sit. I nod hurriedly as I take a seat in the chair across the table from him. "Um, can I- can I get you a drink or something?"

"No, thanks." He raises one hand to wave me off and pulls a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, scrolling through something with his thumb.

I cup my hands together as I wait for him to speak.

Lex Luthor, a billionaire CEO with God knows how many PhDs. He was Person of the Year in Time-Freaking-Magazine.

And then there's me. Just some guy.

The two of us just sitting in my living room. I haven't even had time to clean up in here. I have no idea what to say.

After an awkward few moments, I shift forward in my seat, trying to get him to look me in the eye. "Listen, Mr. Luthor. I appreciate the visit, and the courtesy, and everything. But… I really don't think I'm the man you're looking for."

He nods once and looks up from his phone, lips pursed. "Clark Joseph Kent. Son of Jonathan and Martha. Graduate of the University of Kansas in Edwards. Bachelor's in journalism. Minor in communications. Working as a barista uptown from here. Spent the past three years, four months, four days and…" -he checks his watch- "…eight hours… living alone in this one-bedroom apartment in the outskirts of Smallville." He looks up at me with some amusement. "Please stop me if I make a mistake."

"No, that's…" I trail off, my astonishment clearly evident. "Alright, fair enough; I guess I  _am_ the man you're looking for. But… why? I mean, is there something I can help you with?"

"There absolutely is. I already told you, I wanted to speak about a career opportunity."

"I… I mean I appreciate the consideration, really, but I don't see how I'm qualified for-"

"-You're misunderstanding me." He raises a finger, then hesitates. "Trust me, the  _last_  thing I need is another journalist, Mr. Kent." Looking down again and crossing one leg over the other, he reads off of his phone screen instead of looking at me. "What I'm interested in is this." He turns his phone to me, displaying a video of a cleanup crew around a wreckage along train tracks. A very familiar wreckage. "The train you stopped last month. With your bare hands."

…Oh, shit. LexCorp's train. Lex Luthor shows up at my door. Probably should have put two and two together there.

I have no idea what to say. "What? That-?"

"Yes. That. Surprise!" He tucks his phone away and clasps his hands together, looking at me with some degree of amusement. "I'm sure you meant to be very discreet and all, but-"

"-Discreet? I don't know what… what you're talking about…"

"Really? You're really going to go through this whole song and dance with me?" He shrugs and leans back, resigned. "Listen, Mr. Kent, if I may speak frankly, you're a complete nobody. You're a dust mite living in a city that is literally the butt of a joke just for being the middle of nowhere. You really think I could possibly just mix up a few names on a chart and end up with you?  _Clark Kent_? Just in some kind of silly misunderstanding? I mean, I'm not here to ask you whether you stopped that train. I  _know_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was you, and obviously, you know it, too. So let's just skip the part where you pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, okay?"

He raises an eyebrow at me.

I look at the floor. "…Okay." Can't see much reason to hold back now.

"Okay. Good." Satisfied, he finally seems to give me his full attention. "So, can I ask? Are you an alien? Some kind of experiment? Cyborg? Maybe some magic something-or-other?"

"I have no idea." I shrug with both hands, speaking totally earnestly. "My parents found me in some kind of metal pod that fell out of the sky when I was an infant. They were thinking either alien or secret government project. Since no men in black ever came looking for me, we think maybe the former. But it's up in the air."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. I guess."

He drums his fingers on his legs, deep in thought. I'm not sure what to do with myself, other than watch with anticipation.

After a little while, he settles on something. "When you were twelve, you pulled a school bus full of twenty-four of your middle school classmates- and one teacher- out of a ditch. That's twenty-five, maybe thirty thousand pounds you lifted. At twelve years old, no less."

"My teacher said she wouldn't tell anybody."

"Twenty-four is a lot of witnesses, especially when it's mostly children, to expect something to be kept completely silent, Clark. –Can I call you Clark?"

"Uh, sure."

"-Clark, when you were fourteen, you were arrested for a firearms-related public disturbance along with fellow student Peter Ross. You had bullet holes in your shirt when they pulled you into the police station. Can I assume the obvious here?"

"…Yeah."

"So you  _are_  bulletproof? You can say that with certainty?"

"Yes. I can."

"Hm." He nods once and glances at his phone away, tapping something into it before tucking it into his jacket pocket. "A strapping young man who blocks bullets with his chest. Lifts school buses. Stops moving trains with his bare hands. That's quite the resume you have there."

"And what's it to you?"

I narrow my eyes at him. I don't like to be drilled, least of all when it's building up to an obvious question with an obvious answer.

"Ha, right down to business, then! Fair enough; I respect that." He shrugs once. "I want to hire you, obviously."

"For my strength? You have to understand that I'm not interested in doing glorified manual labor."

"Clark, please," he sighs, repressing an eye roll. "I'm here in person. If it were something so trivial I wouldn't be wasting my time."

"Fine. But what in the world does LexCorp want with me, then?"

"What did Roosevelt want with Wonder Woman?" He shoots me a look. "I want a superhero. I want you to use your  _considerable_  power to do some good in the world. And I have a pretty strong hunch that you want that, too."

Lex remains completely straight-faced, watching me with anticipation.

"…You have to be joking."

"Absolutely not."

"What could you possibly want me to-?"

"Exactly what you've already done. Stopping trains. Saving lives." Lex scratches his chin briefly. "You are not listening to me. What I want from you is heroism. What I'm offering you is an opportunity."

"An opportunity to work for  _you_."

"An opportunity to work for the American people. Beyond that. An opportunity to work for the people of the  _world_." He does not even hesitate in his response, so practiced is he at impromptu speeches. "Clark. What I'm offering you is the opportunity for crisis intervention- all over the world, wherever you are needed- with no red tape, no borders, no legal repercussions, and a protected identity. If you feel it is your obligation to help people with the miraculous power you were born with, then those same moral principles should guide you to the conclusion that it is your obligation to accept my offer today."

"Then… what? You just want to  _help_  me? Just a good Samaritan? Want to make a difference out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Ha! No. Of course not." He seems completely unconcerned by the thought. "I'm not here to insult your intelligence, Clark. Obviously I have a personal vested interest in this. But think about it. If you hadn't stopped that train, hundreds of lives would have been lost because of a LexCorp network failure. Because of a  _personal_  failure." His face grows serious for a moment, and he furrows his brow. "I take full responsibility for that. But a disaster like this is the kind of thing that can seriously damage one's… reputation."

And we finally get to the root of it, what he has been beating around the bush at this whole time. "Then you want me for the good PR."

"Yes. I want you to help innocent civilians on the behalf of LexCorp, and in turn I want your own altruism to reflect on me." He shrugs slightly, choosing his words carefully. "So yes, granted, I may not be a  _saint_ , but that hardly makes me a villain. It's not as though I don't want to see more lives saved. Separate the politics from the principle. I can enable you to do far more than you ever could on your own. It's just something for you to think about."

My gut says no. My gut says he's a rich douchebag with an agenda. The kind of guy a country boy like me couldn't stand to be around any longer than this. That's what my gut says.

He hands me a business card and smiles at me. I can't deny that he has a certain intellectual charisma. Like he knows everything you're thinking before you think it. Of course, that also means he knows just how to talk to you to push your buttons.

A superhero, he says. Like Wonder Woman. As though I could even be compared…

"I'll need to think about it," I say quietly, eyes darting up at him.

He nods, smiling broadly again. "Of course you will. No pressure to choose one way or the other, Clark. You can trust that your secret will be safe with me, regardless."

I look down at the business card again.

_Alexander Joseph Luthor_

_CEO, Chairman, and Founder, LexCorp International_

" _In the Industry of Progress"_

Before I can even respond, he's already shaking my hand and making his way out the door.

My gut says I should rip the card in half.

But something tells me there are at least a hundred people that should have died last month that would disagree.


	3. American Way

Bought my pickup truck for $400. I got it from one of our neighbors when I was eighteen. Even back then, the windows stuck, it could barely go seventy miles an hour, and it hadn't had a paint job in thirteen years. And man, did I ever love it. Rode it around in college. Got a lot of laughs.

It's such a Smallville thing. If nothing else, it reminds me where I come from.

I fail to suppress a laugh at the loud clanking coming from the truck as it barrels down the road. My elbow hangs out the open window, and the wind blows my hair back. It's just rolling fields of golden wheat here that stretch on for miles. It baffles me that some people don't like the country; I think this might be the most beautiful place on planet Earth. And it's in my front yard.

The farmhouse I grew up in waits for me at the end of a long dirt road, and I pull up in the grass in front of the house, stepping out of the car and taking a moment just to breathe in the air. Sometimes I feel a little crowded even in the sleepy little town of Smallville where my apartment is.

"Is that Clark I see?" calls out a voice from the front porch.

I glance over my shoulder to see a small, smiling woman with graying hair. She's carrying a basket of peaches in one arm.

Can't help but grin. "…Hi, Ma."

"How have you been?"

I walk up to the steps of the porch to meet her halfway, and she reaches the basket around behind me in order to give me a hug. It's good to be here at the farm again.

"Good. Good…" I release her and take a look toward the front door, taking a breath. "Had a lot to think about lately. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, Clark. Jonathan is going to be so glad you're here. Oh, you should have seen his face when he heard about all that business with the train…"

"I'm sorry to worry you."

She pats me on the shoulder, face relaxed. "Look, you know we trust your judgment, and we've always trusted you to know your own limits. It's just… you know, it's hard, as a parent, to see you put in danger. But he understands. You did what you thought you had to."

"Still, I know that it was stupid." I shrug. "Stupid, reckless, impulsive. I don't know. I just saw the news about the brake failure on TV and I dropped everything to go out there and stop it. I had no idea if I even could. Ruined my shoes…"

"Oh, sweetheart," laughs Ma. "It's funny; you've always been so careful to hide your superpowers in public, and then once every couple of years you do something outrageous like this. It's like you keep it bottled up."

She holds the door open for me to step into the foyer of the house, leaving it hanging open as she follows me inside.

"'Superpowers'… you always describe my strength like that."

"Well, what am I  _supposed_  to call them? You stopped a train with your bare hands, Clark."

"I know, I know… it's just…" I scratch behind my head as I try to find the words, and Ma smirks at me over her shoulder. "I don't know. 'Super'. Makes me feel like we're talking about Wonder Woman, or the Flash, or something. Super-powers. Seems likes something for  _super-heroes_."

"I don't remember it ever bothering you before."

"Yeah… well, actually, there's something like that that I kind of wanted to ask you about." I bow my head a little as I look at her, and she purses her lips.

I don't even really know why I'm beating around the bush… I guess working for Lex Luthor just seems like such a strange thing to suggest, and God only knows what they'll say.

"Martha? Who are you talking to in there? We don't have guests, do we-?" My father's voice calls out from the other room before I have the opportunity to continue, and a moment later he steps into the foyer with his hands on his hips. "-Clark! I'll be damned!" With a broad, pleasantly surprised smile, he clasps his hands together and approaches me for a hug. "How are you, son?"

"Not too bad, Pa," I reply, patting him on the back.

Releasing me, he puts his hands on his hips and appraises me with a smile. "You sure look healthy! Been eating well, living uptown? Food's all greasy spoon stuff around there, and I know you've never been much of a cook."

"Gee, thanks, Pa." He chuckles at me as I roll my eyes, stepping past my parents to enter the kitchen. "I've been eating just fine, I promise. College taught me how to live on a budget."

"Handy skill," he chuckles.

I lean against the kitchen counter, and my parents settle down at the table, Ma leaving her basket there.

With an outstretched arm, Pa gestures to a tray full of dessert next to the oven. "Cobbler, Clark? Your mother  _just_  made it; it's excellent."

"And it's going to leave us with more leftovers than we can hope to eat," Ma adds.

And there goes 'eating well'. I get myself a plate with a shrug: an offering of home cooking would be the worst time to start counting calories, after all.

I stick a fork in the cobbler and examine it curiously. "What's with the peaches, anyway? Ma was carrying a whole basket of them outside."

"I was thinking I might plant a tree out in front of the house," she says. "Would be nice to have some for picking."

"But how'd you get them?"

Pa snickers at that, earning a roll of the eyes from his wife.

"Well, we were heading into town- you know they put in that Mexican food place, and we were so eager to try it out, since there's so little ethnic food around here…"

I nod, knowing all too well the difficulties of trying to eat uptown in Smallville. "You got that right."

Pa taps her on the shoulder, and she shoots him a look before continuing. "So on the way down we passed by the Hubbards' ranch, and Ben was out there fiddling under the hood of his truck."

"Busted alternator," says Pa.

"Jonathan gave him a hand, and they ended up spending most of the evening fixing it."

I raise an eyebrow at them. "You didn't get to the Mexican place then?"

"We'll go another time. We had dinner with the Hubbards; what wonderful folks they are!"

Pa scratches his chin with a little smile. "Would be a waste to pass up a homecooked meal, anyhow."

"Mighty kind of you guys." I take a bite of cobbler- damn good; no surprises there. Must have just gotten out of the oven.

"Ha! What were we supposed to do? Leave the poor fella stuck there on his ranch?" Pa pats both hands on the kitchen table with a hearty laugh. "Was no problem to help out anyhow; easy fix."

"That would explain why you spent nearly an hour just trying to diagnose the problem," Ma quips, earning a roll of his eyes. "Anyhow, Clark, I don't know if you've been up on the Hubbards' ranch much, but they've got their own little orchard of peach trees down there. Ben picked a whole basket-full to say thanks; he just dropped them off earlier this afternoon."

"How thoughtful of them," I say with a tap of my fork against my plate. "Nothing much better than fresh-picked fruit."

"You like it? I don't make cobbler much, so…"

"Oh, are you kidding? It's amazing, Ma."

"You know you're too modest, Martha," Pa adds.

"I also know you boys wouldn't say something bad about my cooking if I held you at gunpoint."

They kiss, and I try not to make too much of a sour face at it.

"So, Clark." Pa looks up at me curiously, Ma's hand lingering on his arm. "Not that it's not good to see you, but what are you doing home? I wasn't expecting to see you for a while."

Ma speaks up before I get the chance. "He said he had something he wanted to ask us about."

"Oh? What's on your mind, son?"

The two of them look up from the kitchen table at me with the exact same expression, like the friendliest inquisition of all time.

All I can do is give a little shrug. Still feels like such a strange thing to bring up. "I just wanted your opinion. I… got a job offer the other day. Would mean moving all the way to Metropolis."

"Well, I'll be damned!" Pa declares with a smile, sitting up suddenly. "Good for you!"

"That would be a big transition from Smallville," adds Ma, somewhat more cautiously. "You've always had trouble with big, crowded metropolitan areas, and you can hardly get more metropolitan than Metropolis…"

"I'm not too worried about that." I scratch behind my ear. "I haven't had a real episode with my hearing in a long time… I think living in Overland Park really helped, during college."

"Then what's the concern? What's the job?"

"It's, uh." I glance over at her, and she narrows her eyes with warranted suspicion. I shrug again. "Not very orthodox. Lex Luthor showed up at my front door to ask me about it personally."

"…Lex Luthor? What, you mean…  _the_ Lex Luthor?"

"Yeah.  _The_  Lex Luthor."

"Lex Luthor showed up at your door…?"

"Here's the thing. He heard about what I did last month. How I stopped the train in the countryside."

Pa puts a hand to his head. "Oh, Jesus, Clark… I suppose that was just a matter of time…"

"…Yeah… and he found out it was me. And he said he's interested in my strength."

"It's a damn wonder he didn't threaten to sue!"

"Well, I didn't just save the people that would have died from the brake failure. I also saved  _him_  from a PR disaster."

"Huh."

"Clark, what do you mean, he's 'interested in your strength'?" Ma asks with sudden concern. "That's got to be an unusual sort of 'job offer'…"

"Well. That's kind of why I wanted to talk to you guys about it."

Ma and Pa exchange a glance before looking at me again, leaving me to stumble over my words.

"He says he can give me the opportunity to help people. Like… to go overseas, and avoid political red tape, and find people who really need helping, and stuff. You know. To really make a difference."

I'm not sure how to elaborate on that, so I throw up my hands a little to get a response.

Pa clicks his tongue, like he thinks I said something dumb. "…Well, what do  _you_  think?"

I'm not sure what to say to that. "I- eh? I don't know…"

"Do  _you_  want to do it? Do  _you_ think you can make a difference?"

I know what my gut says, but the whole point of talking to them was to get around that. "I guess I think I should try… but I don't know what to make of Luthor."

"Well, hey, I don't exactly know what to make of him either. I'm not exactly inclined to trust someone so concerned with 'PR disasters', but that's really neither here nor there…"

"Right. I'm worried he's planning to try and take advantage of me. I don't want to work for him… I want to work for everyone  _else_."

"Clark." Ma looks me right in the eyes, smiling calmly. "Just the fact that you're worried about whether you're doing the right thing means that if you set out to help people, you can succeed. You're the strongest man I've ever met, and not just because of your muscles. Nobody can make you do something you don't think is right."

Pa nods. "Well put. You've always been the kind of person that went out of your way to protect people. If you think this is where you're meant to go next, then chances are, it  _is_."

The two of them look as earnest as ever, pleasant and encouraging enough to make me wonder why I was ever worried what they would say.

Almost forgot what it's like to be home.

I laugh to myself. "…You guys don't think I'd be too out of place in Metropolis?"

"I'll tell you what, if nothing else, I can guarantee you they've got more Mexican food than they have here," Pa says with a grin.

I set down my plate on the counter, glancing through the window over the sink. The wheat fields around the house stretch on in all directions. When I was a little kid, I used to prop myself up on the counter and see how far out I could see- and it was literally for miles. The thought of it puts a smile on my face.

Smallville things.

"Alright, then." I run a hand through my hair, which is curling a little at the bangs. "New chapter."


	4. S.T.A.R. Struck

Metropolis. It's one of the busiest, most heavily-populated cities in the country- in the  _world_ , even. Driving in on one of the bridges, the skyline is really something to behold. A real masterpiece of architecture. Even if you have to stare at it through tinted windows. I'm resisting the urge to make a Wizard of Oz reference.

Surround sound in the car is playing some incredibly famous classic music- something I am a little embarrassed not to know by name.

The woman in the seat across from me crosses one leg over the other, a grimace plastered across her face. She introduced herself as Mercy Graves, Luthor's personal assistant. Apparently Lex didn't feel like coming all the way down to Smallville himself a second time just to pick me up.

Mercy's pantsuit is black enough to match the leather seats, and she seems to have a personality that fits. She's barely said a word to me during the drive- in fact, she's barely even looked in my direction.

"You, uh… listen to any music?" I glance up at her with my hands clasped together.

She doesn't look up. "No."

I nod once, and she looks away from me. Traffic passes us by as we cross the bridge into downtown. I twiddle my thumbs.

"This is nice," I say after a minute, gesturing to the speaker on the ceiling of the limousine.

Mercy stays quiet.

I click my tongue. "What is this? Beethoven?"

"Mozart."

"Oh."

I run a hand through my hair. Mercy stares out the window, legs crossed. We spend another few minutes working our way into the downtown traffic.

"So, uh, what's it like working for Lex?"

She lowers her gaze a little. "It's  _fine_."

"And… what exactly do you do for him, again?"

Glaring at me with disbelief, she thinks on it for a few seconds before replying. "I do whatever Mr. Luthor asks me to. Scheduling and coordinating. Phone calls. Interviews. Conferences. Paperwork. Bodyguarding." She clears her throat. "…And, occasionally,  _babysitting_."

Yow. Apparently they don't pay her to be polite.

…I don't ask her any more questions for the rest of the ride.

The limo takes us straight downtown, where massive skyscrapers cast shadows down over many of the sections of road with the heaviest traffic. Never in my life have I seen so many cars so tightly packed together, not even during my one childhood trip to Keystone City. And thank God for that, too, because I don't know if I could have handled the noise as a kid. Each car is like a little bee buzzing in a massive hive. If I focused, I could tune into any one of a hundred thousand conversations… not that I have the right to invade anyone's privacy.

Eventually we pull into the parking lot of some kind of hi-tech-looking facility, complete with a security booth in the front. The limo driver has to show ID to get in, and he lets down the back windows so the guy in the booth can see that it's just me and Mercy in the back seat. I wave. Mercy doesn't.

There's already a crowd waiting for us when we pull up to the entrance of the building. A team of seven or eight people in white coats- scientists, if TV has taught me anything- stand huddled together, murmuring to each other. At the front of the crowd are Lex Luthor in a business suit and another man in a white coat, with a scraggly brown beard and glasses like window panes.

Mercy steps out of the limo before me and holds the door open for me, though clearly with contempt. I thank her anyway.

Lex is the first one to spot me, and he immediately moves in for a handshake.

"Kent, there you are! Good to see you." Giving me his most pleasant smile, Lex pats my hands and looks me right in the eye- clearly the handshake of a businessman. "I hope the drive was pleasant enough."

"Yeah. Oh, yeah." I glance awkwardly at Mercy, who doesn't make eye contact with me. "I- uh, I've never ridden in a limo before. It's really something else…"

"Well, in that case, I'll make sure to arrange you one for the trip back." He releases my hand with a smile and turns to gesture behind him, to the man in the white coat. "There are some people I'd like you to meet… this is Dr. Emil Hamilton. He's the head of Metahuman Research at S.T.A.R. Labs headquarters here in Metropolis."

Lex steps aside to let the brown-haired man in the white coat approach me, and I shake his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

He chuckles, shaking his head dismissively. "Oh, believe me, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Kent. I'm very much looking forward to working with you." He releases my hand, taking a step back. "I do highly focused research on all kinds of… extraordinary specimens… such as yourself." He gestures to the team of scientists in white coats, all of whom look me up and down like I'm some kind of wild animal. "This is my team. We'd all like to welcome you to S.T.A.R. Labs. Today should be highly informative for all of us."

They mumble disjointed 'hello's to me, and I give them a limp wave in return. Not much southern hospitality here in Metropolis, it seems. At least Lex seems polite enough.

"You can take the team inside, Dr. Hamilton," Lex instructs, breaking the two of us up. "Clark and I will meet you there."

"Understood," replies Hamilton.

Lex gestures to Mercy, who promptly nods and follows Hamilton inside the facility behind the rest of the scientists. With the crowd dispersed, it's just me and Lex in front of the entrance. He pats a hand to my back and leads me along the back wall, away from the main entrance.

"So you met my assistant, Mercy. Apologies if she comes across as a little… abrasive. She's not really a people person."

"Yeah, I, uh… I could tell."

"That bad, huh?" He grits his teeth with some concern, then smiles at me again. "Well, she's an asset to my work in countless other respects, I assure you. I wouldn't be where I am today without her."

"Don't worry; I'm not getting ready to bolt, if that's what you're worried about."

"Ha! No, no… I just wanted to have a few words before we get things moving today." He stops walking suddenly, and I have to turn to look at him as he continues. "I'll be honest, Clark; I'm going out on a limb a little bit by moving forward with this project so quickly. I want to make absolutely certain we make a good impression today."

"I'll try to be on my best behavior."

He smirks. "I just wanted to warn you that these colleagues of mine are here to scrutinize you. You don't have to worry about it- just be prepared. I will take care of everything on the business end. You just be yourself."

"Alright. I think I can manage that."

"Good to hear. I'm glad we're on the same page." He takes another few steps along the building, stopping in front of a single grey door near what looks like a garage. "Oh, one more thing, Clark- you didn't wear anything too nice today, right?"

I look down at myself. Just a button-down plaid shirt… I mean,  _I_ thought it looked nice, but I guess if you're a billionaire…

"Nah," I reply with a wave of my hand.

"Good, good." He holds the door open for me.

The entrance opens into a narrow hall, illuminated by obnoxiously bright artificial lights. All the walls are the same overpowering shade of white, giving the facility a clinical feel. Actually  _smells_  like antiseptic, though I don't know if that's just my own overly-sensitive nose.

The hall opens into a much wider and more open room- the room I thought was a garage. It's some kind of wide-open showroom, sparsely occupied by some complicated-looking equipment, but mostly just empty space. Hamilton, Mercy and the team of scientists are all standing in a crowd by the door as I step through, along with a few other well-dressed men that I can only assume are Lex's business associates.

Fittingly, they are the first ones Lex greets after he steps in behind me. Afterward, he says his hellos to Hamilton and the rest, and Mercy beckons them to the side as Lex returns to me.

"Do I ever have a treat for you today, my friends," Lex declares, taking on a sort of theatrical tone.

He pulls out a pair of orange earplugs from his front pocket as he approaches, stops short maybe ten feet directly across from me, and then tucks them into his ears. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say or do anything- everyone else is just observing without saying anything.

With a crack of his neck, and after waiting a suspenseful few moments, Lex reaches one hand into his suit jacket. I instinctively take a step back as he pulls his hand out again, now clutching a black snub-nosed revolver.

I tilt my head. "Uh, Lex-"

He doesn't wait for me. Smirking like he thinks he's John Wayne, Lex aims straight at me and pulls the trigger. Everyone in the crowd jumps a little as the crack of gunfire erupts through the massive showroom.

The bullet ricochets directly off of my chest, and the shell clatters harmlessly to the floor- followed shortly after by five more consecutive shots. I don't even feel it, but now my shirt looks like Swiss cheese…

Lex tucks the pistol back into his jacket and removes his earplugs, placing them back into his pocket with a pat. "…Ladies and gentlemen, LexCorp's newest project."

…Rude.

Immediately, the crowd starts clamoring, and Hamilton rushes forward to approach me. Straightening his glasses, he leans down a little to stare directly at my chest, taking mental notes. "Well, that certainly  _is_  impressive…"

I'm really not sure how to react.

Lex mumbles something to one of the men in suits and then walks toward me, picking up one of the shells off the ground and examining it.

He looks up at me with a self-impressed smile. "Sorry… I'll reimburse you for the shirt."

"That…" I turn away from Hamilton for a second. "…That was really dangerous, Lex."

"Not for you. And besides, sometimes you need to be bold to get peoples' attention. Just play along here; I promise I have everything under control." Chuckling, he pats me on the shoulder and then turns so that we're both facing the crowd. "Thank you all for coming. I hope everyone is awake now."

Mercy gives a little smirk at that. It's the first time I've seen her smile today, and something tells me it's not something I'm going to be seeing often.

"As most of you know," continues Lex, "I've been looking to move forward with metahuman research as a part of LexCorp's global humanitarian aid efforts. As of today, we have our candidate: a superpowered being of uncertain origin, from Smallville, Kansas. Last month he both caught up to and  _stopped_  a train without any equipment or backup. He just stood in front of it and slowed it to a stop with sheer brute force."

I shrug with some embarrassment. "Well, I put my arms out…"

Lex laughs. "Our earliest projections place him well within the upper echelon of known metahumans on the planet. Even the superhuman feats we have already confirmed that he has performed are only possible by one-  _maybe_  two dozen living metahumans today."

"Generously, at that." Hamilton says that, and he folds his hands awkwardly as everyone turns their attention toward him, like he is flustered speaking in front of the crowd. "-Um, that is, not to overstate it, or to set anyone's expectations too unrealistically high, but I personally find it incredibly likely that Mr. Kent is going to be a suitable, if not exceptional, candidate for Mr. Luthor's program." He looks me in the eye for a moment. "Which is why I am so very much looking forward to our tests today."

"Yes, yes, yes; there will be plenty of time for that, Dr. Hamilton." Lex pats him on the shoulder, gesturing with his other hand to one of the machines a short distance from us. "We have time for a short demonstration, as promised, but we'll have to get into the more thorough testing later in the afternoon. I want to make sure Mr. Kent is prepared for the upcoming public unveiling, first and foremost. This is about cultivating an image."

Lex catches me shooting a glance at him, and I shrug. "Uh, public unveiling?"

He nods with a smile. "One step at a time, Clark."

Folding his hands behind his back, Lex steps aside, and the whole crowd begins to move toward the machine he gestured to, which is essentially just an enormous metal box with the arm of a piston sticking out in the front. I'm suddenly starting to feel very conscious of the fact that I'm being observed like a zoo animal, as everyone directs their attention toward me and waits for me to take center stage.

Hamilton takes a clipboard from one of his associates as I approach, waiting patiently for me to step up and begin the demonstration.

"It's really nothing more than a hydraulic press, just highly compact," he explains. "It can exert upwards of eighty million pounds per square inch- or, roughly, forty thousand tons. But any device with that much power would usually need to be five times the size." Visibly proud, he thinks to himself for a moment before continuing. "I developed it years ago, hoping to use it to measure Wonder Woman's capabilities, but I couldn't get the government to approve the research. I believe they prefer to keep that kind of information a secret, as much as academia may suffer because of it." He fixes his glasses with a huff. "Regardless, it's very exciting that the technology will not go to waste."

There is a slightly awkward pause as everyone stands there waiting for me to proceed. Lex seems to take particular interest. It's about now that I'm starting to feel like a hick in front of all these city folk.

"Uh." I glance over my shoulder at Dr. Hamilton. "Is… er, did you want me to do something?"

"Er. Right. Yes, please, Mr. Kent." With a slightly condescending smile, he takes a step forward and approaches the machine beside me. "Place your hand here," he instructs, guiding my arm to position it against the piston and then adjusting some of the settings on a control panel. "Arm slightly bent."

Something whirs on the inside of the machine, and the cold piston arm shifts slightly to press against my palm.

I am just about to ask another question when Hamilton continues: "For the sake of calibration, this is the weight of the piston arm alone. It isn't exerting any force at the moment, but the arm alone weighs around thirty kilograms. Do you feel any pressure?"

"…Basically none," I reply with a blink.

30 kilograms. My Kansas public schooling never really gave me a good grasp of the metric system, but that's fifty or sixty pounds at least. It's strange- I've always known I was strong, of course, but there's something surreal hearing it measured out in numbers. For most people, that would be a lot of weight for one hand, and yet I can hardly even feel it. It feels vain, but I'm actually kind of excited to learn more about what my limits are.

Immediately after my response, the researchers start taking notes, and the few in the back push forward a bit to get a better look at me… it really is a little embarrassing.

Hamilton leans to the side and examines my bicep, mumbling, "No pressure? Okay, as expected." Then he goes back to adjust the settings on the machine again. "We're going to continuously increase the machine's output. All I need you to do is report the amount of pressure you feel, on a scale from one to ten. One being essentially indistinguishable from the weight of the press on its own, and ten being too much pressure for you to feasibly lift. Do you understand?"

Sounds easy enough. "Sure," I reply with a shrug.

"Then just remain where you are. I'm going to…"

He fiddles with the settings again, and something shifts on the inside of the machine. The piston arm tries to extend against my hand… but it can barely give any resistance, just a gentle push.

Hamilton fixes his glasses curiously. "How much pressure are you feeling now?"

"From one to ten?"

"That's right."

"Okay… uh, one."

"Mhm." Hamilton scribbles that down. "Okay. The arm is putting out a force of approximately one ton. To put it in perspective, you're lifting what is the equivalent of two grand pianos stacked on top of each other. And with just one arm, at that."

Damn.

I can't help but smile. "Yeah, I'm usually the one that ends up having to help my friends move furniture."

The crowd of scientists chuckles at that, along with Lex, who has moved off to the side to watch the demonstration. Not so much as a smirk from Mercy, though, unfortunately. Still not sure what I did to rub her the wrong way, but some people you just can't win over, I suppose.

"I'm going to increase the pressure," Hamilton says after a moment. "Let me know if you feel uncomfortable or cannot continue."

I nod once. "Got it."

"Two tons."

"One."

"Three tons."

"One."

"Five tons."

"One."

…The scribbling on the researchers' notepads gets more intense. Lex is looking decidedly more smug, and I'm not sure how to feel about that.

" _Ten_  tons."

"One."

"Twenty tons."

"One."

"Fifty tons."

"One."

That's more than twice the last setting, and for the first time I can actually feel the weight increasing, even if only the tiniest amount.

I have to think about it at first. "…Two."

Everyone writes that down in unison. Hamilton seems kind of surprised.

"One being essentially no pressure? And ten being the maximum?"

"Yeah. Two."

"Alright, then," he declares before returning to the control panel. "And how about now? One hundred tons."

It's actually still remarkably easy to lift, but it's giving me some resistance now, at least to the point where I can definitely feel it. Maybe it's just the small increments that were making it harder to tell before. Like the frog in boiling water.

I drum my fingers on the piston. "Three. Two or three."

"How about now? One hundred and fifty."

"Eh… still around three."

"Two hundred?"

"…Still three, I think."

"Okay. I'm going to increase it to three hundred."

"Go for it."

The piston struggles to push against my hand. The pressure is definitely increasing, but it still doesn't really feel like it's any more difficult to lift before.

"Three."

I'm thinking now that maybe I underestimated myself, and the researchers seem to agree, given their hushed whispers amongst themselves.

Hamilton watches me carefully. "If you begin to feel any discomfort… please answer honestly, for your own safety. You have nothing to prove to us."

"I know, I know, seriously. But it's not uncomfortable- not yet."

"Then let's try some larger increments. Are you comfortable with that?"

"Sure."

He hesitates before pressing on, biting his bottom lip.

"Five hundred tons."

The machine whirs more loudly as the piston tries to force its way downward.

But still nothing. "Three."

"Eight hundred."

"Three… three or four."

"One thousand."

"Four."

"Fifteen hundred."

"Five."

"Two thousand."

"Five or six."

It's unquestionably harder to lift than it was a few hundred tons ago. But it's still not as bad as I would have expected. I feel great, actually- I'd love to get the chance to really experiment with this thing some time.

…But not today, apparently. Hamilton shuts the thing off soon after the two thousand mark; probably out of fear that I'm exaggerating my own strength, if I had to guess.

"Incredible." He shakes his head as he disables the piston, stepping over to help me remove my arm from the device. "I mean it- these are highly impressive results. Even considering some of our more generous projections…"

"What did I tell you, ladies and gentlemen?" From the back of the crowd, Lex takes this opportunity to cut in, marching forward with open hands. "He's the one, alright. Mr. Kent is going to make this project happen."

"And all of us at S.T.A.R. Labs appreciate the opportunity. I would love to get the chance to do further testing under more controlled conditions."

"All in due time, my friend. As I said… we need to prepare for the unveiling."

There's that 'unveiling' again.

I step forward quickly. "Lex-?"

"-Relax, Clark. I'm getting to it." He raises a hand to quiet me before turning away. "Is the suit show-ready, Dr. Hamilton?"

The pair of them exchange a knowing glance. Apparently I'm the only one that's been left out of this process. A bit troubling, considering  _I'm_  the project in question.

Hamilton purses his lips, as if reluctant to respond. "Yes, as of this morning. Though it's best we keep it out of contact with water for another day or so to prevent the color from fading."

"Excellent. In that case, I'd like to ready it in the display area." Not troubled by the warning, Lex turns away from the crowd and waves once to his assistant before stepping away. "Mercy, come with me?"

"Yes, sir," she replies, following after him obediently.

Straightening his suit with both hands, Lex looks around at the crowd before focusing his gaze on me. "I'll be back in just a minute," he says quickly.

…And then he's gone, marching briskly out of the showroom toward a hallway off to the side. Leaving me alone with this bunch of total strangers. Great.

I appreciate the moment to slow down and catch my breath, but it's interrupted almost immediately when the good doctor taps me on the shoulder, followed closely behind with the rest of his little gang of researchers.

Hamilton has my attention for a good couple of seconds before he looks up from his clipboard and asks, out of the blue, "-Can you fly?"

He says it like it's not a completely absurd question.

I'm at a loss for a moment. "…Can I  _fly_?"

"That's right," he replies immediately.

"Uh… no? Can  _you_?"

"No, but then I can't lift two thousand tons over my head, either."

The crowd chuckles at the comment, but I still think my confusion is pretty valid. "Still, why would you ask me that? What does that have to do with how much I can lift?"

"You might be surprised," he explains. "It's actually a common ability for metahumans with power-sets like yours. Wonder Woman can fly."

"Well, I'm not  _Wonder Woman_."

"No, but you may be closer to her than you think. That was a very impressive display you just gave us." He adjusts his enormous glasses with one hand, contemplating. "We don't actually know  _what_  you are, after all. Anything that can provide us with some insight is helpful. So if you can't fly…"

"I can  _jump_." At that comment, he raises an eyebrow at me, and I scratch behind my head. "I mean, pretty high."

"How high, exactly?" he asks instantly.

Thinking on it for a moment, it occurs to me that I've never actually tested it. "Really, really high. Like, over a tall building. Although I haven't tried it much, admittedly…" Heck, now I really  _want_  to try it.

"But you can't  _fly_."

"I mean, I don't think so."

It certainly seems pretty straightforward at first, but the more I think about it…

"…Well." I hesitate for a second. "Actually…"

The crowd moves in closer.

"Actually what?" Hamilton asks.

"My mom told me once. When I was a baby, supposedly she found me floating above my crib. Man, I haven't thought about that story in years…" I shrug with both hands- it's been a long time since Ma ever mentioned this. "And who knows; maybe she's remembering wrong. She was so sleep deprived, then, after all. Taking care of an infant and all. I always thought it might have been a dream."

Hamilton is undeterred. "She says she found you floating?"

"That's how she remembers it."

The writing on the clipboards is downright furious now.

"I'd love to speak with her," Hamilton says quietly.

" _No_." I bark that as a gut reaction more than anything, and I have to catch myself before I start coming off like a jerk. "Uh… I mean, sorry to be stern. But, look. My parents are simple folks. They don't need scientists poking and prodding around them. You know? Just leave them out of it, please."

He hesitates for just a second before softening a little, replying, "Understood," with a firm nod. "I don't mean to invade your privacy, Mr. Kent. We merely want to get the clearest picture of you that we can. But we can most certainly do without your parents' testimony."

"I appreciate it."

He seems slightly disappointed, admittedly, but he shakes it off quickly and exchanges a glance with one of the scientists behind him with a guilty look on his face. It's a little bit humanizing, actually, after I've spent this whole affair feeling like a project at a science fair. I really do appreciate the consideration.

"-Clark?"

A voice from behind me interrupts my train of thought, and I whirl around suddenly to find that Lex has returned with Mercy at his side, sporting a proud grin.

"Yeah?" I ask sharply.

"Everything's ready for display. If you're ready, we can get this show on the road." Lex looks past me, toward the rest of the crowd. "We'll meet up with you again soon."

"Very well," Hamilton replies. "Mr. Kent has certainly given us plenty to talk about in the meantime. But let me know if you have any notes on the suit."

"I certainly will."

The two of them shake hands, and Mercy steps past him to join up with Hamilton's group. Apparently she won't be coming along with me and Lex, a fact that I feel a little guilty to admit I'm pleased about.

My hands in my pockets, I follow Lex out of the showroom, down the little hallway that he and Mercy disappeared into earlier. It's hard to tell any of the rooms in this place apart considering the sterile white walls and floor, but there's something dramatic about this corridor somehow, which opens up into a much wider, more industrial-looking part of the lab. Where all the magic happens, I assume. He leads me past a number of enormous metal containers and displays for scientific equipment.

And then I see it.

The 'suit'. Displayed on a mannequin apparently modeled after me, and lit up with a flattering spotlight. It would look like a blue gymnastics uniform if it weren't for red trunks pulled up over the waist. Lana went to fashion school- I can feel her waking up in a cold sweat over those clashing colors. And right on the chest- an ornate, decorative crest.

An S. Whatever that means.

It almost seems like a joke at first, and yet there's a certain charm to it. It really  _does_  look like something a superhero would wear.

Lex starts to explain before I even get the chance to ask. "It's made of a synthetic fabric woven with a Promethium mesh. That's a man-made metal, and one of the sturdiest materials on the planet, named for its particularly high resistance to fire and heat. Supposedly it can withstand temperatures on the surface of the sun. As you can imagine, that makes it more than a little difficult to actually forge anything out of it. The suit itself weighs over four tons; no ordinary human could even wear it." He lets out a long sigh, tucking his hands into his pockets. "You're looking at a single design worth almost ninety million dollars. For what I invested personally in R&D on this project, you'd better believe I expect it to be able to survive anything that you can. So please be careful with it."

The longer I look at it, the more fixated I am on it. Such a bold design- it's really something.

But there's still one question on my mind. "What's the S stand for?"

Lex smirks like he was expecting that. "Superman."

He seems proud of the name. And, well, it certainly fits the costume. But I'm not so sure.

I place my hands on my hips. "Superman, huh…?"

"It was, admittedly, a tongue-in-cheek nickname I had in grad school," he snickers. "But if there's anyone else it could be used to describe, it's you, don't you think?"

"I dunno." My eyes trail over the big 'S' again. "Don't you think it sounds a little… arrogant? Super- I mean, compared to what? Superior to  _who_ , exactly?"

I shrug with one hand, but Lex waves me off, crossing his arms as he looks over the costume again.

"It's a translation," he explains, after taking a few moments to consider how to phrase it. "There's a German concept: the Übermensch. Like the swastika, it's a term that was misappropriated and redefined by Hitler in order to stoke his personal brand of racism. But he didn't understand the concept. Originally it was Nietzsche's- the Overman, or… the Superman. Fundamentally, it's an ideal. A goal for humanity at large. Someone elevated above our flaws, exemplifying our strengths." He leans over and turns to look me in the eye again. "Think about it this way: we want to challenge people to be the best they can possibly be. It doesn't have to be  _you_ \- Clark Kent. But it's the message. The 'S' on your chest- that's what it will mean to people."

It sure sounds nice the way he puts it. The message over the man… I can understand that.

"Challenging people to be better."

"To be their  _best_  selves. Exactly." He nods firmly. "Look… at the end of the day, it's the symbol  _you're_  going to be wearing. So I want to make sure it's something you're comfortable with. If you have any notes, we'd be more than happy to take them into consideration."

"Notes?"

"Sure. Anything that comes to mind. If you don't like the name. If you don't like the costume…" He crosses his arms, eyeing up the suit in the display case. "If you think it's too flashy, we can still workshop it…"

He trails off a little, looking at me uncertainly.

Too flashy? Definitely not. I love the colors- cheerful, optimistic. Unthreatening. It looks like something a little kid would want to draw with a crayon.

But even still, there's just something about the design that feels a little too… uninspired. Too simplistic. It's definitely missing something. Takes me a few seconds to figure out what.

I look Luthor in the eye. "How about a cape?"

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story over a year ago, and that's when I wrote the first few chapters for it.
> 
> It has stayed in the back of my mind, though, and I've actually had the story planned out for a while now. I've always been a huge Superman fan; I hope someone else can get some enjoyment out of my take on the character.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
